


As The Crow Flies

by groovyphilia



Series: Caw Caw Motherfucker [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Crow!Erik, Gen, Non-powered AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-13
Updated: 2013-01-13
Packaged: 2017-11-25 07:36:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/636612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/groovyphilia/pseuds/groovyphilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik-the-raven has seemingly made Charles' living room his permanent residence, much to Charles' despair. A kind world would allow him a peaceful, bird-less life, he was sure.</p><p>He firmly believes this until it actually happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As The Crow Flies

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a sudden fit of bird-fondness.
> 
> I know I said Erik was a crow in the first fic. Apparently, I was wrong. He's a raven, they're the big ones - and so, in this fic, he's a raven now. Sense and continuity is not a high point of this series.
> 
> By the way, [here's a video of a raven talking and mimicking.](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFXU7o0fYII)
> 
>  
> 
> **[EDIT] Holy hell,[Maimo](http://4xontuesdays.tumblr.com/) did some amazing art for this; I screamed for a year when she showed it to me. I am kind of still screaming. [Here it is](http://i.imgur.com/iK0R5.png), and it's also in the fic below!**

Charles came home to Erik looking extremely fluffy.

He settled his shopping bags slowly onto the kitchen table, and stared. Erik stared back, a mass of feathery black fluff. It was ominously adorable.

“What do you want?” Charles asked, narrowing his eyes. Erik responded with an innocent _caw,_ which did nothing to allay his suspicions. The raven had forcibly imposed himself on Charles several months ago, and he had since learned that Erik was exceptionally intelligent. He had even taught the bird several human words, which Erik now liberally used in demanding food or insulting others.

The latter had been an accident. Two weeks into Erik ensconcing himself in his living room, Charles had found himself in a furious argument over the phone with one Reed Richards, which meant he had apologised six times and assured his colleague he would think about it. Erik had watched him, head at a quizzical tilt, until Charles dropped the receiver back into its cradle. “What,” Charles had said, “a twat.”

“Twat,” Erik had immediately repeated, with a joyful flap of his wings. “Twat twat twat.”  

Despite Erik’s selective eloquence, there was an occasion where he would withdraw into silence or the occasional bland caw: when he had done something that would make Charles extremely angry. This was usually accompanied by him huddling on a kitchen counter and looking as fluffy as possible.

The last time Charles had come home to this scene, he had found Raven mewling distraughtly on a usually-inaccessible ledge. He could only conclude that Erik had chased and terrified her into performing acrobatic feats previously unknown to man or cat. It had taken him three hours, a ladder, all of his cushions and five handfuls of cat food to rescue her. The experience was not easily forgotten.

“What did you do?” Charles murmured, peering suspiciously at Erik. Erik attempted to give his nose a loving nip. “Where’s Raven?”

Erik cocked his head to the side. “ _Me_ ,” he said, in his peculiar, deep, bird-voice.

“No, no,” Charles said impatiently. “You’re _a_ raven. I mean the cat. Where’s Raven the cat?”

“Cat-tuh.”

“ _Yes.”_

Erik swivelled his head around, and launched a low, guttural rattle in direction of the living room. There was a quiet jingle of a bell and the soft pattering of paws, as though a cat was running very fast for a hiding place.

“Well, at least she’s safe,” Charles sighed, straightening up. He inspected his kitchen. Not a fork or frying pan seemed out of place – in fact, things looked somewhat more orderly than usual. He was fairly certain he never hung up his dishcloths. “Are you going to confess, or do I have to find out for myself?”

Erik remained silent.

Charles sidled into the bedroom and looked under the pillows. The sheets were white and pristine. He poked his head into the bathroom. The sinks were smooth and scratch-free. He peered into the study. His papers were strewn haphazardly across the desk and floor. This was normal.

Charles was starting to feel very nervous.

Something warm bumped against his ankles, and he jumped. Erik looked up from his feet, and cawed once again. He seemed to be simultaneously trying to curl around them and herd Charles back into his study. For a bird a fraction of Charles’ size, Erik was doing a remarkable job.

“Erik,” Charles said, as the raven butted its head against his calves. “Erik – stop that at once, you’re a damned _bird,_ tripping me in the corridors is Raven’s job – “

“Me.”

 _“No,_ Raven the cat, for god’s sake _–  argh –_ “

The floor approached rapidly. Charles tumbled to the floor, landing painfully on his side with his feet caught in the carpet. Erik fluttered away with a squawk, and Charles sighed, rolling onto his back in defeat.

His living room looked even messier upside down, he noted unhappily. Research papers were strewn over the coffee table, surrounded by an audience of gently moulding coffee cups. Three different coats were tossed over the sofas. Even the door of the empty bird cage was ajar.

Empty bird cage.

Charles bolted upright, rushing to the cage in question. He peered around it. He peered under it. It was most definitely empty. He squinted at the latch. There were distinctive marks on the metal, as though it had been scrabbled at with sharp talons.

Charles closed his eyes. He inhaled, taking a deep breath. He exhaled. He counted, very slowly, to ten. He opened his mouth, and gave a shout of anger that very nearly rattled the coffee cups.

 _“Erik.”_ He stormed into the kitchen. Erik had resumed his spot on the table, and was once again looking very fluffy. “Erik, where are the parakeets? _What did you do?”_

Erik was having difficulty meeting his eye. He gave a very small ‘ _caw_ ’. Charles left out his breath in a weary sigh, and rubbed his hands over his face.

The cage, of course, had not belonged to Erik. Rather, Charles had been very taken with five little monk parakeets on sale at the nearby mall, and after some deliberation, had taken them home. The first three days was an exercise in sternly scolding Erik every time he tried to peck at them. The raven had been suspiciously well-behaved for the rest of the week. Charles felt he ought to have known it was too good to be true.

There would be no point in searching the apartment for them, Charles knew. He always left the windows open when he was out, and either way, he would have heard them by now. Sean in particular was exceptionally twittery.

“Why?” Charles demanded, with a bit of a hopeless laugh. He pulled up a chair, and slumped into his seat. “No, really – _why_? Why would you _do_ that? What have those poor things ever done to you? And for god’s sake, why won’t you leave?”

Erik stared at him. He almost looked hurt, but it had to be Charles imagination. “Mine,” the bird said, after a moment’s pause.

Charles snorted. “No, the parakeets most certainly weren’t yours to do with as you please. Neither is this apartment, actually, despite how you treat the furniture.”

“ _Mine.”_

Charles slammed his hand onto the tabletop. Erik fluttered away with an ungodly screech, perching on the edge of the sink. He reared forward, and _hissed_. Charles had not even known ravens could hiss.

“Ah – I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you – “ he began, getting up. Erik flapped his wings angrily, and let out a loud, grating _kraa_. “No, wait –“

Erik launched himself into the air – Charles ducked, but the bird merely flew over him, the rustling beat of his wings following him out the still-open door. Charles straightened up slowly.

He paused. He shook his head vigorously. He ran to the door, and looked about. The skies were clear.

“Erik?” he called uncertainly. There was no answering _caw_ , no distinctive knocking, not even a mockingly accented ‘ _twat’._

Erik was gone.

***

Logically, Charles knew that ravens did not take up much space. Strangely, however, his apartment seemed far emptier.

“Hello, my dear,” he murmured, setting his briefcase to the side. The cat twined herself around his legs, purring. “Anything exciting happen while I was gone? Chase off any burglars?”

Raven gave her ears a flick, and rubbed her head against Charles ankles. This conveyed anything from _I missed you_ to _Feed me to Pay attention to me_. Typically, it was the latter two, and generally meant that no, nothing was amiss in the household, thank you very much. By extension, this meant a lack of avian visitors.

Charles checked Erik’s old pillow nest anyway. It was, predictably, untouched. It had been for over a week.

No matter. Ravens were not exactly known for being loyal pets, after all – not that Erik ever felt like much of a pet. Charles had always thought of him as a very bossy, bird-shaped flatmate. _And that’s what happens,_ Charles thought, pulling a book from the shelf and settling into his couch. _Flatmates move out. Particularly if you shout at them._

There was something funny stuck in Charles’ throat. He decided to make a cup of tea.

It was, at least, the start of term break, and Charles astoundingly found himself without papers to grade. He did not even have classes to plan, with next term’s course being nothing new. He had plenty of time to himself. Plenty of time to sit in his empty, peaceful, bird-less apartment. It was going to be delightful.

 _Absolutely delightful,_ Charles thought numbly, staring at the gurgling kettle. He might have a second lunch, he thought. His stomach was feeling strangely empty and cold.

_Rat-a-tat-a-tat._

Charles blinked. He spun around.

_Rat-a-tat-a-tat._

He raced to the living room, nearly sprawling onto the coffee table (he really had to rearrange that carpet). The window was open, so why didn’t he - ?

_Rat-a-tat-a-tat._

A familiar, feathery figure was perched on the balcony, pecking insistently at the sliding glass doors. In an astounding show of composure, Charles carefully eased open the doors, and after a moment’s pause, stretched out his hands. Erik hopped off his perch, settling into Charles’ cupped palms, and proudly offered his loot.

It had somehow escaped Charles’ notice that Erik was carrying something in his beak. This was quite an achievement, considering that something was several feet long.

“Erik,” Charles managed to say, cradling the bird in his hands as he retreated into the apartment. He sat himself on the sofa, and was dimly aware that he was beaming rather idiotically. “You came back.”

“ _Caw_ ,” Erik said in a muffled reply. He dropped his gift into Charles’ lap. It was a battered, mostly-presentable sunflower.

Charles stared at it. He stared at Erik. He stared back at the sunflower, as Erik gave an encouraging _caw._ “Is that for me?”

_Caw._

Unbeknownst to many, Charles loved sunflowers. This was reflected in his taste in decor, which bore sunflower motifs more often than not. It bordered on tacky, but it was not as though he received any visitors. The fact that the closest sunflower farm was miles away only fuelled his odd preoccupation with them.

Erik’s wings were distinctly dusty. He burrowed sleepily into Charles’ hands, peering up at him through one eye.

“Erik,” Charles said, hoping he sounded stern. It was difficult, with that warm, fuzzy ball that had abruptly taken residence inside his chest.  “Don’t you _ever_ do that again, all right? I was worried sick. I don’t even _want_ to know how far you flew to get this, it’s an all-day drive.”

Erik eyed him silently. Charles sighed. “And yes, I missed you. Terribly.”

He never knew a _caw_ could sound so satisfied.

 


End file.
